


Master of the Space

by iloveyoudie



Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [13]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, M/M, Modern Era, Partner Swapping, Seduction, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24984835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: The girls wandered away to leave Morse and George just leaning in silence against one another until something must have pinged in George’s head and he rolled in close to murmur it to Morse. His hand rested on Morse’s shoulder, just near his open collar and loose tie, Morse’s still slung around George’s hip, and Box felt a growing burn of annoyance deep within him.
Relationships: George Fancy/Endeavour Morse, Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse, Max Debryn/Ronnie Box, Ronnie Box/George Fancy
Series: Sure would be a bummer if he got shot and died... [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695859
Comments: 18
Kudos: 28





	Master of the Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guardianoffun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guardianoffun/gifts).



> absolutely self indulgent bullshit..  
> but also for tee because she needed drunk girl morse and george in her life.

Box felt like jelly. Like warm custard. In fact he felt like this boneless body of his had been poured into his clothing. He felt constrained, like his shirt was too tight and his trousers as well. Obviously they were always snug, but his skin ached to be free, his limbs and torso longed to just stretch. It had reached the hour of the evening where he was both too drunk and it was too late for him to be wearing clothes. Tucked into a corner booth of the pub, he blindly watched the weekend crowd move around him while lost in his own swimming thoughts. He fantasised about getting home and stripping out of his fabric prison and getting himself horizontal. He wasn’t tired. He just wanted to lay and stretch, relax, and enjoy George. Yes, he was very much in the mood for a bit of private time with his boyfriend. 

A tiny voice in the back of his head said he was getting too old for these late nights. He ignored it. 

George wasn’t tired though. Ronnie hadn’t figured out yet if his Georgie was willingly ignorant of his own limits with alcohol or if his own natural enthusiasm just ruled out reality, but he always went a bit wild at a good do, and this was Strange’s birthday bash. The evening had started with more rounds of shots than Ronnie could keep track of, and it turned out that everyone in the pub seemed to know Jim. He’d thought at least some percentage of the guests would be passersby but almost everyone who’d walked in the door had come over to Jim, and by extension George (who organized the thing), to buy them drinks and give well wishes. 

Strange was gone though, shuttled into a cab more than an hour ago, and still the crowd was gathered and still they kept drinking. George hadn’t strayed very far from his spot at the bar except to use the loo, and he was still there now, next to Morse who was perched on a bar stool with his fingers curled around the base of a pint glass. He was also drunk, drunker than most of them, which meant he smiled more and he laughed more and he was nominally more charming and _normal_ than he could ever be sober. They were talking to an alright looking pair of girls at the moment, but the girls seemed to sense the men were nearly sloppy drunk. It didn’t take a genius though, George wasn’t standing so much as he was leaning his arse into Morse’s hip, and it was clear that if Morse weren’t sitting he’d likely be on the floor. The bartender had cut them off, and Morse’s beer was a result of a friend’s purchase, not his own. 

Box thought of his own beer and lifted it, with concerted effort, to his lips. He didn’t like the way George bobbled on his feet and Morse’s arm curled around his waist very naturally to keep him from falling over. He guided him against his body as if an automatic reflex and George fluidly followed the movement, neither of them seemingly able to notice how they were unusually chummy. It wasn’t unknown for them to get like this, both of them always too eager for outside attention to pay any mind to the usual nature of their relationship while sober. 

They both seemed to forget about the girls they’d been chatting to, just like that, and the girls wandered away to leave Morse and George just leaning in silence against one another until something must have pinged in George’s head and he rolled in close to murmur it to Morse. His hand rested on Morse’s shoulder, just near his open collar and loose tie, Morse’s still slung around George’s hip, and Box felt a growing burn of annoyance deep within him. 

“They’re like uni girls.” 

Dr. Debryn’s drawl pulled Ronnie from his thoughts. He realized he’d been staring daggers and Max had clearly noticed. Box threw him a side-eyed glance as the doctor sunk down beside him in the booth. He sat close, right against his side, so he could speak to him and be heard above the din - and so he could also watch Morse and George . 

“Wassat?” Box muttered and drained his glass. 

“George and Morse. Like feuding sorority sisters who live to make one another’s life absolute hell, but as soon as they get a few drinks too many in them they start braiding one another’s hair and yelling that they’re best friends, and then snogging in the bushes later so they can tell people they ‘kiss girls when they’re wasted’.” 

Ronnie hated that he had a point. 

There was a moment of silence between them, Box moving to drink his beer again and realizing it was empty, and then Max sipping his own. The doctor was tipsy, that much was clear, pink ears and pink cheeks, but he was also more sober than the rest of them and though he seemed relaxed, even amused, his eyes were glued to Morse and George at the bar, as if he couldn’t look away. 

“Tenner they actually kiss,” Debryn leaned in to his ear again. It tickled a bit as Box automatically leaned into it. 

“Be an idiot to take that bet,” Ronnie turned his head to Max’s ear to answer, “Or maybe I’m just the idiot already..” 

Max let out a short laugh, sympathetic, and patted Ronnie’s knee, “Now, now. Don’t brood. It’s not all that bad.” 

“Not broodin..” He muttered, just as he glanced over and George and Morse were jostled by a bar patron. The two of them bumped in close, and then after a long stare between them, they locked lips. 

Something clenched in Ronnie’s gut and he felt his torso lifting from the bench distantly, his hips feeling suddenly heavy in his inebriation, and then Max’s hand clamped down on his thigh. It froze him in place and he slumped back again. 

“Relax,” Max said, leaning into his ear again. His hand hadn’t left. It stayed there, clamped on his leg, firm and strong. It felt like the only solid thing in his vicinity. His attempt to stand now hampered, he wasn’t sure he could get up again without significant effort. Even the sight of George and Morse, sloppily snogging at the bar with clumsy wandering hands, felt like a distant and unsure sight. Like he was looking through the top of a rippling pond and everything underneath was hard to gauge the real nature of. 

Still, his face felt like it was on fire. His gut warm. He hated to admit it but the urge to get out of his clothes got worse. George looking unkempt and handsy, a firm hand on his own thigh, a warm and strong body right beside him… it really wasn’t a matter of who at the moment, but of feeling it. 

“It’s meaningless,” Debryn murmured to him, “They’re drunk.” 

His voice was rather hypnotizing as Box continued to watch Morse and George, “Maybe meaningless to you. George _isn’t_ like Morse. It’s not okay.” 

He knew as soon as he said it that it was a bit unfair. He didn’t know the intimacies of Morse and Max’s relationship but he knew Morse had a reputation and people who didn’t know about his spouse always sort of just assumed he got around a bit. Couldn’t blame them, the way he got with some of the suspects, but Box was just venting his own dislike. Not of Morse really, was it? It was all he knew about George and his own bit of reputation before Ronnie rolled in. 

“You sound very ugly right now, Ronald,” Max tutted firmly. He was admonishing him. Normally only George could call him Ronald and get away with it, but Max doing it hit something very humiliating in his gut, that same sort of snap he put on at crime scenes that shut up every cop in the room. Like a disappointed teacher. Master of the space. 

“Think about it a different way,” Max continued with a low murmur. He still had a hold of Box’s thigh, but his fingers drummed once and it made Ronnie hyper aware of the contact. Every drawling word had him caught now, he leaned closer to hear him, “They’re both very nice to look at. Handsome.” 

They were, he couldn’t deny it. Both of them leggy and lean, George’s dark straight hair and Morse’s wild ginger. Strong jaws, cutting cheek bones, absolutely careless as they touched one another, long necks, George’s pale skin against Morse’s freckled. They were flushed and seemed, in their drunkenness, to forget to breathe as they parted with a gasp and licked their plump wet lips. 

“Have you ever heard of an American painter named Thomas Eakins?” 

Box moved away only enough to give Max a look, the sort that made the doctor laugh and he felt inordinately pleased to have done that. 

“Amongst his many works, were quite a few of young men. Carefree, enjoying one another, no thought to how things may look…” 

George and Morse were staring at one another, still close, but no longer snogging. Morse’s hand was clamped on George’s shoulder, the crook of his neck, his fingers playing at the edge of his hairline, and George was holding himself up in the vee of Morse’s knees, his fingers gripped onto Morse’s thigh much like Max’s were gripped onto his. 

Ron couldn’t be sure if it was the look of George like that, or if it was something Max was doing, but his insides swirled with unmistakable arousal. 

“It’s enviable,” Max murmured to him again. Ronnie realized he’d been waiting for it. Every pause in Max’s murmuring left him waiting for the next words, “To be so carefree.” 

And the spell on the pair at the bar seemed to break. George flashed that foolish little smile of his and Ronnie felt it tickle him inside. Morse huffed and looked away, a smile playing on his own lips as well. 

“Look at me,” Max said low and firm and Box found that he couldn’t deny the request. 

He felt like he was under a spell. He turned his head without argument and found Max right there, blue eyes peering at him from over the top of his glasses, his own lips wet from his drink, his mesmerizing voice was enticing and Box suddenly got the distinct feeling that they ought to just kiss themselves. Get it out of the way. 

“They’re going to look this way in a moment,” Max smirked. 

Box found himself mirroring it. 

“-because they’ve remembered us and they feel guilty and they want to know if we’ve seen them.” 

Ronnie’s head tilted as he leaned closer, and Max seemed to as well. That hand on his thigh felt like it was moving but he couldn’t be sure with his body humming the way it was. Max smelled like gin and some sort of warm spiced cologne. He’d never been close enough to notice before but now they’d just watched their spouses snog one another, and Max had reassured him - practically convinced him - that it was fine, maybe this was the next step. Whatever this was.. 

He’d always said Debryn was too good for Morse. Likely too sensible to be associated with any of them. Distant and commanding and untouchable. Ronnie’s itch to touch rose again. It felt aimless, greedy, instinctive. It didn’t matter much now what Max said to him, he was rapt, and as far as he was concerned... anything could happen. 

“You tryin to make them jealous, Doc?” Ron found his voice somewhere, low and rumbling in a direct response to Max’s tone. It was down right seductive. 

“Maybe,” Max smiled. 

Ron felt it go through him. Debryn had dimples. He’d never noticed before. 

“But we are men who possess control,” Max finally released him. He couldn’t explain it. His posture shifted his voice firmed and lightened, his hand on Box’s knee released and patted gently and playfully, and he seemed to glide a half an inch further away. He smiled placidly and raised his glass as if he were toasting him, “Aren’t we, Ronnie?” 

Box had almost chased it, almost fallen into him looking for that damn kiss, and when he straightened up himself he glanced back at George finally and saw that both he and Morse were staring. Morse looked blotchy, red-faced and irritated. George simply blinked. 

“And now-” Max turned his face fully to Morse and George who both had started to move. They bumped each other as Morse tried to stand and George attempted to move away from him at the same time, “-Now they both have something to make up to us.” 

Debryn grinned at Box again. 

Box was positive that Max Debryn was some sort of sorcerer. Perhaps he’d made a deal with a demon. Not in a million years would he have thought himself to be drawn to such an odd little man but here he was, practically bending over a table for him. Swooning from a few select words. Box , in his disbelief, found himself with a tiny bit of a crush. 

“You sure we shouldn’t just say fuck all to these two and find a dark corner for ourselves?” It was a joke. Of course. He was smiling. They’d had a moment, obviously. Bonded in the drive for a bit of a revenge on their slag spouses. 

Max laughed and patted his knee again before their lads were finally in earshot and gave him a wink, “Maybe another night.” 

**Author's Note:**

> max debryn should be everyones crush. hes a sex god. dont @ me


End file.
